


Worth It

by SilverRowan_Ivy630951



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, But not THAT kind of happy ending, Deaf Steve Rogers, Former Captain America Bucky Barnes, Happy Ending, Hurt Bucky Barnes, M/M, Massage, Modern Steve Rogers, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, Physical Therapist Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Has Hearing Aids, Steve Rogers is Not Captain America, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, read the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29694399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRowan_Ivy630951/pseuds/SilverRowan_Ivy630951
Summary: Bucky was hurting after getting thrown through a wall during the last Avengers fight. So he wasnotpleased to hear a knock on his front door. It turned out that Natasha and Sam hired a physical therapist to help him. Without telling him. Unfortunately for Bucky, that physical therapist was hot as hell and built like a brick shit house. And to top it all off, he was nice.Despite his initial wariness, Sam talked Bucky in to giving PT a try. Just one try. How will it all turn out?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 14
Kudos: 146





	Worth It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daretodream66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daretodream66/gifts).



> TW: I accidentally got a little graphic with how HYDRA tortured Bucky. It’s when Steve asks him what they hurt on him. Bucky tells him some of it. If you want to skip, you should skip the paragraph directly after the first ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’
> 
> Also, I am not a physical therapist, I’ve never had physical therapy, and I only did a basic amount of research for this. If there’s anything wrong with the info/process here, I’m sorry. Feel free to tell me if you want. But I might not change it if it affects too much of the story. I don’t feel like a complete rewrite. If you see any other errors, let me know. Thanks and enjoy! 
> 
> P.S. Sorry for the summary. I know it sucks.

There was a knock on his apartment door and Bucky groaned. He’d just bet it was Sam or Natasha coming to check on him.

Except… Except neither of them ever knocked and waited. If they knocked at all, it was only perfunctory before they invaded his living space. Sam had a key to his apartment and Natasha had some sort of voodoo magic. Bucky was sure of it, despite the fact that she denied it each time. That was just what someone with secret magic _would_ say.

The knock came again and, with a groan, Bucky hoisted himself up off his couch. He was bruised all over in a fight—despite being the Avenger’s _sniper_ —and now he had to answer the door. He guessed that was just par for the course in his life.

His scowl appeared and deepened the closer to the door he got. First he’d gotten thrown through a brick wall—his favorite rifle destroyed because of it—and now he had to _talk_ to somebody. If it wasn’t an adorable little girl scout at his door selling cookies, he was turning whoever-it-was flat away. He wanted to sulk alone in his sad pitiful misery. No. _Brood_. He was a brooder. He was brooding, not sulking. He wasn’t sulking.

With his left arm—because his right wasn’t good for much at the moment without hurting—Bucky jerked open the door. “What?” he growled.

It took a second for his eyes to register the absolute vision of the beautiful, tall, blond, sharp-jawed, utterly _ripped_ man before him.

*****

Steve had to work very hard to keep his eyes from bugging out of his head after his client opened the door. The man was drop dead gorgeous, regardless of the scowl that currently painted is face. He also just happened to be the Winter Soldier.

As a physical therapist, Steve was intimately aware of bodies, of how they worked, how they moved. And when it came to some, they just stood out. As far as he’d seen in the rare moments the man was caught on camera and shown on the news after an Avengers’ fight, the Winter Soldier was one of them. Not only did the man move with the grace and ease of a ballet dancer, he was also built like a brick shit house. The two traits should not have gone so easily together. And, yet, they did.

Recovering himself quickly, Steve smiled. “Mr. Barnes,”—because that was the only name Shuri had been given when Barnes had called the office—“my name is Steve Rogers. Where would you like me to set up?” He started to take a step forward, his bag strap over his shoulder and folded-down table in his other hand. But he was forced to stop mid-step when Barnes didn’t back up. Instead the man’s annoyed scowl turned into an annoyed and confused one.

“Who are you?”

The semi-growled question caused Steve step back. Now _he_ was starting to get confused. “Um, Steve Rogers? You called our office about an appointment? You…you are Barnes, aren’t you?” getting a small nod, Steve continued. “I must say. I was a bit confused as to why I was asked to come here instead of you coming into our office, but I guess it makes sense now.”

Steve thought he might’ve heard a very quiet, “God dammit, Nat,” but, with hearing aids, he might’ve been mistaken about that. Loud enough for him to hear this time, Barnes asked resignedly, “And what is it you do?”

With that, Steve’s eyes widened. _Oh, shit._ “Probably not whatever you’re thinking right now.”

This time he _did_ hear what the man muttered. “Well, I _think_ you’re not a girl scout here to sell me cookies, so…”

Steve quirked a small smile at that. Setting down his table, he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. He reached for his NPI card and handed it over for Barnes to look at. “I’m a licensed physical therapist with the Wakandan Design Group. Whoever called—and I’m guessing now that that wasn’t you?—asked for someone strong and preferably male. Between T’Challa, M’Baku, and me, I was the only one available.”

Looking over Steve’s NPI, Barnes pulled out his phone. Steve assumed he was going to check on his credentials, which he wouldn’t have been insulted by, but the man only speed dialed someone and held the phone up to his ear.

The ringing caught Steve by surprise. While he wasn’t close enough to actually hear anything from the phone itself, his hearing aids started giving him some major feedback. It was almost painful, the way it sounded.

He instinctively flinched back, hopefully not making an embarrassing noise. But even if he did, he couldn’t currently care. His hands flew up to his ears and he all but yanked his aids out.

*****

Bucky’s phone rang for less than a single ring before it was answered. He didn’t even give Nat a chance to say hello before he told her, “I hate you.” Then he hung up on her laughter.

Looking back up at the blond Adonis that was Steve Rogers, his brows drew down. “Hey, are you okay?”

But the man didn’t answer or give any indication that he’d even heard. There was something clenched loosely in his fist and his head was bent toward the floor. His fingers rubbed at and around his ears and temples. He gave a little jerk of his head—like shaking something loose, not answering Bucky’s question.

Bucky stepped towards him and reached out an arm to nudge his shoulder. Something was obviously wrong.

Before he made contact though, Steve jolted back a step and looked up. He looked startled.

Pulling back, Bucky held his arms up and out in the universal sign of ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ Then he tried again. “Are you okay?”

Steve eyes flicked down to his mouth for a second before he frowned. “I can’t hear you. You’ll have to give me a minute.”

So he was like Clint: deaf or near to. But Bucky had learned sign language after joining the Avengers and realizing that Clint didn’t like wearing his hearing aids and, though he claimed otherwise, was awful at reading lips. Raising his hands, he signed his question.

Steve’s eyes widened.

Fuck. How was this guy so cute? He should’ve been too hot to be considered cute.

“Uh, yeah,” he answered, surprise coating his voice, presumably at Bucky knowing how to sign. Or maybe at Bucky asking, which would be sad. “I will be. Just… Your phone and my aids apparently don’t get along. I think _I_ just lost that fight.

Bucky smiled despite himself. He gestured for Steve to follow him in and grabbed up the navy blue padded square with hinges and handles.

After everything was set down and Steve was inches from putting his hearing aids back in his ears, Bucky’s phone rang.

Bucky snapped his arms out, halting Steve’s hands, and then reached for his phone in his pocket. Glancing at the caller ID, he answered. “We being called out on mission, Cap?”

Sam Wilson was the current Captain America. Bucky had been the original, back in WW2. But, he’d fallen from the train and became the Fist of HYDRA, their pet tortured Soldier. And since he was captured by the Avengers and given his mind and freedom back, he didn’t want the title. They’d been filling the Cap role since the 50s and they could keep right on filling it with people who weren’t Bucky. He’d turned them down when they’d asked.

So, while Sam was his friend, he was also his Captain, there was always the chance that a call from him was more than just for a friendly chat.

“Nah, Barnes. I just wanted to tell you to let the PT help. We called them for a reason; take advantage of it. Everyone at the Wakandan Design Group has been vetted by Jarvis _and_ Black Widow so, whoever they sent, you know they check out. Just give it a chance. You don’t have to keep hurting all the time.”

Bucky’s shoulders dropped at Sam’s soft tone and he let out a tired sigh. He rubbed at his eyes. He had been going to talk to Steve about what it was he wanted to do but, with how Sam had put it, he now felt he had to at least give whatever-it-was try. “Alright. One chance. But I have to turn off my phone. It apparently fucks bad with this guy’s hearing aids.”

“Ah. So they sent Rogers. He’s new with the group but always rated at the top in every place he’s worked. Been a PT for more than ten years and has helped a lot of people. You’ll be in good hands with him.”

Bucky hadn’t needed a rundown of the guy. He ignored the little part of him that had settled at the information. “Good- _bye_ , Sam.” He hung up on his friend’s huff of laughter and powered down his phone. Throwing it over to land on the couch, he signed that it was okay for Steve to put his hearing aids back in.

*****

Steve watched as his client went to his kitchen and got down two glasses to fill with water.

He didn’t mean to look, but couldn’t really help it. The man was drop-dead gorgeous. He had a beautiful face—even with the seemingly permanent scowl that graced it. And he was tall with wide shoulders, narrow hips, and thick, hard thighs. He had muscles for miles. He was, without a doubt, exactly the type of man Steve looked at on the occasions he actually bothered to look.

On that thought, Steve turned away. He was being so extremely unprofessional he was actually ashamed of himself. He was here to help a man, a _client_ , who was hurting. It didn’t matter who he was. It didn’t matter what he looked like. What mattered was that Steve helped him.

His aids picked up a faint scuff on the floor—possibly intentional—seconds before his client came up beside him and handed a glass of water over.

“Can I ask you some questions?” he asked.

“Of course, Mr.—”

“Bucky,” his client interrupted. “You might as well call me Bucky. Mr. Barnes was my father.”

“I understand,” he said. “You can call me Steve.” He gave a small smile, which Bucky returned. After a moment, though, Steve prompted, “You had some questions?”

“Yes.”

Bucky looked down as his cheeks flushed a faint pink, though Steve hadn’t any clue why. Maybe he was shy? Uncertain at not knowing what was going to happen? It was common enough for people’s first times doing therapy.

“What—you said ‘physical therapy.’ You, what, bring a portable thing for me to lie back on and I tell you about any…problems… I might be having?

And, at that, Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “No. God, no.”

“I don’t like therapy,” Bucky said with pointedly narrowed eyes.

Still grinning, Steve tried to reassure him. “I’m not that kind of therapist. I take people with physical disabilities, injuries, or illnesses—a torn rotator cuff, a vet with a missing limb or a prosthetic, a car accident victim, someone after surgery, someone with chronic conditions—and I help them get better or learn to cope. I give exercises, assess pain, help them manage their pain. Things like that. Some of what I do is rehabilitation, some is teaching a new way to accomplish a task so they don’t hurt themselves more or again.”

Leaning back to half-sit on the side of his folded-up table, Steve tilted his head. “I had a client…maybe six years ago? They never thought they’d walk again. Lost both legs from the thighs down in a ten-car pileup. It was a long road, but now they run marathons. They advocate for the Paralympics. They offer support to those who, like them, find their lives changed through no fault of their own. There are a lot of reasons a person might see a physical therapist. And, yeah, there’s talking, there’s telling me how you’re feeling, but it’s very different from talk therapy.”

The longer Steve talked, the more settled Bucky became.

“So, what exactly are you supposed to do today?”

Well, today I’m supposed to do an overall assessment on how you’re doing physically and what we can do to improve on that. Keep in mind, though, that these are only suggestions. You don’t have to take my advice, but I think you’ll find that, if you do, you’ll feel better in the long run.”

“And who will you be reporting to?”

*****

Bucky watched Steve’s face very carefully. He watched for any lies or deception, any misdirection. All he saw there was confusion. It was written on his face, but also showed in his eyes.

A frown marred the perfection of his face as he said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You said you’d be assessing me. Where will that assessment be going? Who will you be sending it to?” There had to be a catch. Maybe he was supposed to send it to the Avengers? Not that Bucky didn’t trust Sam and Natasha—or Jarvis, for that matter—but he’d had plenty of medical records and therapy assessments sent to whoever the specialist deemed necessary. And, most of the time, it had been without consulting him.

“Oh! No. It won’t be going anywhere. It’s for…” He thought about it for a second before sitting up straighter. “Think of it like a marathon. This assessment is the baseline, the starting place. This is the very beginning, before the starting gun. Once we begin, we can track your progress, your milestones.

“Say you’ve had surgery for a torn rotator cuff. At the beginning, you can only lift your arm to here.” He lifted his arm away from his side. “As we go along, you’ll slowly advance.” He raised his arm higher and higher. “We keep track as the weeks go by and it shows your progress.”

Bucky thought about that for a moment.

“These are medical records, Bucky. You weren’t referred by a doctor wanting to keep track of your progress so I’m not obligated to give them to anybody. I can give you a copy, if you want. And I’ll have a copy in our systems. The only people who would have access to them are Shuri and me. Shuri keeps track of all our records and files. And our schedules. I’m pretty sure she’s the brains of the entire operation. We’d all be sunk without her.

“But, while she might retrieve your files for me—or for you, if you ask for them—she won’t read them. And she won’t be giving them out to anyone else. Legally, she _can’t_ give them out to anyone without your express knowledge and permission. No one can.”

“Others have,” Bucky murmured.

And oh, boy. Steve’s face turned dark and thunderous when he heard that. His shoulders tightened under his obscenely tight shirt and his free hand clenched into a fist. It was unfairly hot.

“Then those people need to be sued and have their licenses revoked,” he said. “That’s a violation of your rights, the same as any other person.”

And there was a statement very few would ever make, saying that the Winter Soldier was a person. Steve actually looked like he meant it, too, like he _believed_ it.

Unsure what to say, Bucky sat there on the couch and waited. He watched as Steve stared down at the glass in his hand and took measured breaths, as he took a drink before looking back up at Bucky.

“If you choose to do this,” he said softly, “your assessment would be for no one but you and me. To keep track of your progress, nothing more.” There was another moment of silence before he added, “You can say no. You can tell me you don’t want to and I’ll pack up and walk right back out that door. I won’t tell anybody about you or where you live or that we even had any contact. That’s nobody’s business but your own and whoever you choose to tell.”

But that was the thing. Bucky _didn’t_ want him to leave. He still wasn’t quite sure about all the physical therapy stuff, not sure how it could help him, but he didn’t want Steve to go. And, with what Sam had asked of him, Bucky was prepared to at least give it a try.

He stood. Steve followed suit.

“One time,” Bucky said. “We’ll see how it goes.”

Steve gave a little head bob in agreement. Standing, he reached for his wallet again and pulled out a card. Handing it over, he said, “Depending on how you feel today goes, this is the number I can be reached at. That’s our building and the extension to get to our office. You can ask for another appointment with me or, if you feel you want to try again, but with someone else, you can visit our website and comb through the other therapists. Ayo and Nakia are away with Doctors Without Boarders for the next six months, but there’s still Okoye and the others.

“Okoye, Nakia, Ayo, T’Challa, M’Baku, Shuri…and Steve.” Walking to place his glass on the kitchen counter, he hummed a bit of ‘One of these things is not like the other.’ He had the pleasure of hearing Steve’s low chuckle behind him. Something deep within him liked it a lot. The sound almost seemed to shiver down his spine.

“They’re all family, related one way or another. I’m just the schmuck who somehow talked my way into their practice.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Bucky said as he turned. He watched as Steve, bent at the waist providing an excellent view of his ass, unclipped and unfolded a padded travel table. At his words, though, Steve paused and looked over his shoulder.

Christ on a cracker. Now there was a view Bucky was bound to be dreaming about later.

“What do you mean?” he asked. Then he went back to unfolding the legs and finishing setting up. Going over to his bag—and bending down even more, causing Bucky to swallow in an attempt to wet his suddenly dry throat—he pulled out a sheet which he then fitted to the table.

Bucky only just barely found his voice again when Steve straightened up and swiveled to face Bucky, his eyebrow raised.

“One of the things you get when dealing with the Avengers is excessively deep background checks. And apparently that goes double for me after I spent so long being tortured by the other side. Sam told me a little bit about your career.”

Steve’s brows drew down again. He opened his mouth, but hesitated.

“What?”

“Can I…”

Bucky just waited.

“Can I ask how they hurt you?” But he immediately shook his head and changed his question. “Not ‘how.’ If you’re willing to tell me, I’d like to know _what_ they hurt on you. And—again, if you’re willing—I’d like to see.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Everything Steve. They hurt everything. I’ve had every single bone in my body broken dozens—and in some cases, hundreds—of times, I’ve had every joint dislocated more times than I know, and every finger and toe cut off and reconnected to see if I could still use them after. I’ve had all my teeth pulled out and shoved into the wrong spots to record the results. I’ve had my brain and body electrocuted for years. I’ve been frozen, thawed, drowned, buried, starved, beaten, whipped, cut into, and operated on while awake and without anesthesia. My ribs have been cracked open like a cadaver and my insides played with until long after I’d passed out. I’ve had all my nerves messed with and mapped until I felt like I was on fire.”

The more Bucky told him, the more Steve paled until he was white as a sheet.

“And that’s just what I remember. I’m sure there’s much more that I don’t. It’s all probably in some file about me if I cared to look. But I don’t want to know. Knowing what I do is more than enough.”

In for a penny, in for a pound.

Bucky gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, baring his arms, chest, and all his scars.

Steve, still pale and a bit shaky, was only a few feet away by the time Bucky reached for the button of his pants. “May I touch?” he asked, his raised hand hovered a foot away.

Pausing, Bucky nodded. He’d have to learn how to deal if he was going to go through with this.

Steve started with his metal arm. “You don’t have sensation, here, right?”

“No,” Bucky rasped. This whole thing, how gentle Steve was being with him, made his insides quiver. “No, I do. It was part of the nerve and neural mapping.”

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

Steve looked up and their eyes caught. That tear-filled blue gaze seemed to see into his soul. Bucky found, in that moment, he couldn’t lie. “Yes. Constantly. But it’s like seeing your nose. It’s there, but it’s so normal that you don’t notice it unless you want to or have reason to.”

Steve frowned but didn’t comment. He slid his hand up Bucky’s bicep, his touch feather-light. When he reached the seam where metal met skin, he hovered. His eyes flicked up and Bucky nodded.

“Let me know if I cause you any pain. And don’t bullshit me, either,” he said when Bucky opened his mouth to do just that. “You have your limits, but I have mine, too. If we’re going to do this, we need to be sure of one another. Some—a lot, actually—of what I do will cause you pain. But it should be a clean pain, one geared toward extending your limits so that you can go farther and longer _without_ feeling pain. Until I know what your limits are, I can’t help you. Okay?”

The blunt way Steve spoke to him, the way he didn’t pull any punches or mollycoddle him, was difficult but exhilarating. No one ever spoke to him that way. Not even his friends. Everyone else took the Winter Soldier into account, some way or another. Here, it just felt like Steve was talking to Bucky Barnes.

“Okay.”

Steve raised his eyebrows and Bucky felt compelled to add, “I am constantly in pain, low-level in some areas, higher in others. But I’ll tell you if you add to it. And then I’ll tell you if it becomes too much.”

After another moment, Steve’s fingers settled over the scars lining his prosthetic. As he felt around, he began to add pressure. When Bucky gave him the limit of when Steve began to add to the pain, he lightened up and moved on, repeating the process again and again.

He followed the line of Bucky’s shoulder and down his ribs and spine, all the while asking questions about how his metal arm was attached, which bones it was attached to, and how it was secured and supported.

Steve even asked questions that Stark’s best doctors hadn’t thought to ask. And he did it all in a way that, surprisingly, didn’t bother Bucky in the slightest. He was, without a doubt, being examined. But, for once, he felt utterly comfortable with it.

That, in itself, was a revelation. He felt comfortable standing there with his chest, back, shoulders, and arms on full display to someone who was virtually a stranger. And, when the time came, he felt comfortable stripping out of his pants so he was down to just his underwear so Steve could do the same with the rest of him.

“Okay,” Steve finally said, stepping back. “Do you have a stretching routine that you perform or an exercise regimen you follow?”

It wasn’t long before Bucky, still stripped down to nothing but his boxer briefs, was doing Judo, Jujitsu, Tai Chi, and boxing moves, jumps, squats, and anything else he could think of. When he was done, he sat and waited while Steve wrote note after note.

After about ten minutes, Bucky got up, put his pants back on, and went to the kitchen to make them lunch.

*****

Steve was so involved in writing his observations and notes down that, when his cell phone rang, he only absently reached for it to answer.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, thank Bast! You’re still alive.”

“Shuri, what—”

“You were supposed to be back _two hours ago_!”

“Shuri—”

“I send you to some mysterious address of someone who gave _the_ most generic American name next to Smith, and then you don’t return and you don’t call. _What else was I supposed to think_? I was about ready to send T’Challa after you! And M’Baku! So there’d be two as witness to finding your _dead body_!”

“Shuri.” Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “Calm down. I’m not hurt. And I’m certainly not dead.”

“You better have a _very_ good reason for not coming home to us.”

Steve’s heart warmed a little when she said that. Since he’d started, most everyone had been beyond welcoming, treating him as if he were a part of the family. T’Challa’s and Shuri’s ma had even made him cookies and invited him over for dinner a few times.

“Yes, I do,” he said. “Hold on for a second, though.”

He held the phone to his chest, even as his hearing aids picked up her yelling at him. _Don’t you put me on hold! Get back here and explain!_ He couldn’t help but smile.

“Do you mind if I tell Shuri who you are? She won’t tell anyone without your express permission. But, more important for right this second, she’ll stop yelling at me.”

The girl has one hell of a set of lungs. _Steven Grant Rogers!_

Bucky winced, obviously having heard, even from half a dozen feet away.

_Come back here this instant!_

“The only way for her to not know that you’re my client is to use a false name on all your paperwork. I’m…not sure I’m comfortable with that.

Steve heard a faint click as the call disconnected. Then the screen lit up and started ringing again with an incoming call from Shuri.

“You trust her?” Bucky asked.

“Yes.”

“Then okay.”

Steve answered the phone just seconds before it went to voicemail.

“Steven Grant Rogers! How _dare_ you—”

“He’s an Avenger, Shuri,” Steve interrupted. “That’s why I had to come to him. And he’s the Winter Soldier. Which is why I’ve been taking so long. We’ve got seventy years of pain and torture to get through.”

All was silent on the other end of the line.

“I want to help him. I’m _going_ to help him, if I can. If he’ll let me.” Steve’s eyes flicked over to meet Bucky’s. He didn’t see any trepidation there, but didn’t know if he was able to hide something like that from others.

“I’m sorry,” Shuri said quietly. “I just…I worry.”

“I know, sweetheart. We’ve only just finished the evaluation. I need to get my notes down and then get on with the rest of the appointment. He was my last client of the day so I didn’t think about calling. I’m sorry I worried you.”

“It’s okay. Just…call when you’re leaving?”

“Of course.”

Steve was about to hang up but Shuri had one last question. “Is his name really _Barnes_?”

Steve smiled. “Yes it is. Bucky Barnes.”

“That’s _boring_. I’m calling him White Wolf.”

And without so much as a goodbye, she hung up.

Looking over at Bucky, he could see the incredulous expression on his face. “She’s very…” he said before he faded off into silence.

“Excitable? Enthusiastic? Energetic?” Steve’s grin grew wider with each word.

“Dramatic,” Bucky finally finished.

Still smiling, Steve gave a shrug like ‘what can you do?’ “She’s only just turned seventeen. And she’s in her second year of college. Works as the Group’s receptionist on her days off and after her classes are done for the day.”

“You said she was the brains of the entire operation.”

“Yes, I did. I’m positive she’s smarter than all of us combined.” Steve looked back down to his notes. “Just let me finish up with these and we can move along to what happens next.”

“What happens next is lunch,” Bucky said. Then he turned his back to Steve and went back to the kitchen, stirring something that was boiling on the stove.

Sucked back into what he was writing, Steve only hummed.

*****

Nearly finished making lunch, Bucky had been watching Steve out of the corner of his eye. Once he got back to his notes, the man hadn’t looked up even once. At one point, Bucky asked him if he wanted any tea, soda, coffee, or water with his meal and Steve had only hummed. It was obvious he hadn’t heard a word Bucky had said.

It made him smile.

There was something oddly pleasing at the thought of someone being so unafraid of him that he’d been all but forgotten. There was no wariness at being around the Winter Soldier. There was no awkwardness or uncomfortable curiosity or questions for the former brainwashed POW and assassin. And there was no hero worship for who he used to be, the role he used to play as Captain America. In some perverse way, being ignored made Bucky feel a whole hell of a lot better about everything. Steve was there to do a job and he was doing it.

The timer went off on the stove and Bucky saw Steve jolt. He looked up and around, blinking a few times as he took in his surroundings. It seemed to take him a few seconds to remember that he wasn’t at his office but in Bucky’s home.

Playing it off like he hadn’t seen, Bucky called out, “Food’s ready,” and turned away to grab a couple bowls from the cabinet.

With his back turned but still paying close attention, he heard Steve set aside his notebook and stand up. His soft footsteps came closer until they stopped at the edge of the kitchen.

“You…made me food?” he asked slowly.

Bucky looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Well, I mean, technically I made _us_ food. Supersoldier’s got to eat. Getting thrown through a brick wall can make a man hungry.”

Steve’s eyes widened and his whole face turned into an expression of shock with some horror mixed in. “You got thrown _through a brick wall_? And you’re still walking? You—” His face changed, his expression flattening. “You went through all those exercises for me. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Bucky handed over a bowl filled with stew and vegetables and took one for himself. Then he guided Steve to the table with a hand on his back.

“Steve.” Even Bucky could hear the fondness in his voice. He wasn’t sure when he’d started feeling fond of the man. “We’ve been over how much I’ve been through in my life. Being thrown through a wall isn’t exactly noteworthy compared to all that. I walked away with bruises. Those bruises will soon heal.”

Steve didn’t look very happy at that but didn’t push. It was just one more thing to like about the man.

When they were done eating, Steve with his one and a half bowls of stew and Bucky with his three, they got back to work.

Steve went through yoga stretches that he suggested Bucky start all his workouts and missions with. He also recommended ending with them as well. “Starting, it’ll help prevent straining anything while you work. Ending, it’ll help loosen and relax your body. Looser muscles should help lessen the constant pain.”

He ran through all the stretches to show Bucky—while Bucky did his best not to pop a boner as he saw _just_ how flexible Steve was—before having Bucky join him.

Bucky had always thought yoga was for people who couldn’t or didn’t want to exercise for real. How wrong he had been. By the end of it, he, a supersoldier, was sweaty and breathing harder than he should have been. And Steve…wasn’t. He apparently did a lot of yoga.

Once all of Bucky’s limbs, even his metal arm, were feeling noodly—something he hadn’t thought possible at this point in his life—Steve stood up signaling the end of that.

While Bucky leaned against Steve’s collapsible table and did his best to regulate his breathing, Steve shifted from one foot to the other. There was obviously something he wanted to say.

Bucky had learned over the past however many hours that Steve was shit at deliberately hiding things. He had the opposite of a poker face. So many emotions crossed his face or in his eyes. The difficulty with reading him came, not from the lack of emotions, but from the abundance. Sometimes they flashed by so quickly that they were there and gone before Bucky could get a handle on them.

But, now, it was simple. Steve very obviously wanted to say or do something but wasn’t sure how it would be received.

“What?” Bucky asked.

Steve looked away towards his bag before squaring his shoulders and looking back.

“Everything scheduled for this appointment is completed. But…”

He looked down. It looked to Bucky like he was thinking very hard. Or maybe gearing himself up for something.

“But…?” Bucky prompted.

“But I think there’s one more thing that we should do. I think that, if you’re agreeable, it would help you feel better, at least in the short term.”

With those words, Bucky’s mind immediately fell into the gutter.

His brain thought back to Steve bent over, as he had been while unfolding his table and then reaching into his duffel bag. But, instead of looking over his shoulder in question, he aimed sexy bedroom eyes straight at Bucky. His brain bought up image after image of Steve mid-twist and mid-bend, doing complicated yoga poses, showing off just how flexible he was. His brain thought up the image of Steve on his knees in front of Bucky, his hands on Bucky’s naked thighs while their eyes locked and Steve slowly leaned closer to his cock.

“You said you didn’t do that,” Bucky said, his voice unfortunately rougher than it had been before.

He watched the incomprehension cross Steve’s face before his words and meaning clicked. Then his eyes widened and his cheeks started turning a fiery red. His blush slowly traveled down to include his neck until it slid under his unfairly tight shirt. Just how many more images would be put into Bucky’s brain for him to think about later and try not to jack off to?

“That’s… I wasn’t…” Steve swallowed and looked down. He looked like he was trying to control his fierce blush. After a minute, after he’d pulled his professionalism around him like a shield, he said, “I didn’t mean… _that_. I meant… One of the things physical therapists do is deep tissue massage.”

Bucky raised his eyebrow. What Steve was suggesting sort of sounded like it had the potential to lead to _that_.

Steve gave a huff of breath through his nose, one that was unmistakably annoyance, not humor. “What I’m suggesting,” he said, that annoyance made even more clear, “isn’t the kind of relaxing massage you’d get from a spa, nor is it the prelude to sex that you’d get from a significant other. What I’m suggesting targets specific muscle tissues. On you, with the amount of problems that you’ve got going on after decades of being tortured and, more recently, after being _thrown through a wall_ , it’s going to hurt. It’s probably going to hurt a lot. But I think it will help.”

Bucky leaned back, putting more weight on Steve’s table while he thought about it. He wasn’t sure how pain would make him feel better. It never had before. But, even after such a short acquaintance, he knew Steve wasn’t the type to give pain for the sake of giving it. He wasn’t anything like those fucks in HYDRA. If Steve said that this would help him, then he decided to believe him.

“I’ll try.”

Steve went to his duffel bag and started pulling out items. There was a thick, navy blue sheet, a soft-looking blue towel which he rolled up, and what looked an awful lot like the bottle of lube that Bucky had sitting in his nightstand drawer back in his bedroom. He watched on as Steve took the bottle and popped it into the microwave for a few seconds. Then, with a, “Heads up,” Steve chucked it at him.

Bucky instinctively caught it. He turned it over in his hands before looking back up.

“You looked suspicious,” Steve said in answer to his unasked question. “Check it out.”

*****

Gathering his things from beside his bag, he kept a surreptitious eye on Bucky.

Steve hadn’t missed the narrowing of eyes when he’d pulled the oil out. He was a lot of things but a dummy wasn’t one of them. He wanted Bucky to be comfortable so, deciding to be as open as possible, he gave it to the man to examine.

The oil was one of the recipes he’d perfected over his years being a PT. He had different ones for different purposes. This one happened to be for helping heal bruises and relieve pain.

He waited as Bucky popped the lid and took a sniff.

“What is this?”

“What is its purpose? It’s oil to help smooth the way during a massage. Nobody likes skin rubbed raw. What is the smell? Frankincense. It’s got anti-inflammatory qualities so it should help. I’ve got other kinds if you’d rather something else. This for pain and bruising, others for anxiety, stress relief, to help with headaches, or to help with sleep.”

“There’s no label.”

“No. That’s because I make them myself.” He paused and thought about it. Then he did something he never thought he’d do. He made Bucky a quiet offer. “If you need it to be comfortable, I’ll tell you everything that’s in it.” He didn’t normally do that. In fact, he’d _never_ given out his recipes. Even when people—Shuri most recently—had begged, he’d only ever offered to make up a batch. His recipes were the product of years of research and experience.

Bucky studied Steve as he stood up with everything he needed in his arms. Eventually, Bucky stood up as well and went to stand in front of him. “No, that’s alright. I trust you.”

Steve’s eyes widened at that. The idea that someone who’d had the kind of past Bucky had trusted him was staggering. He wasn’t sure he deserved it.

But he pushed that aside when Bucky asked, “So what do I need to do?”

“I need you to strip as much as you’re comfortable with and lay face down on the table. There’s a sheet to cover you. If you’re not comfortable, you can change into shorts or something. I’d definitely want access to your torso, though, as well as your limbs so the shirt and jeans need to go. Everything else is up to you.”

Steve handed over the sheet so Bucky could cover himself, then he headed for his bag.

Taking out and flipping through his notes, he double checked the spots he most needed to hit. He’d have to be careful with where Bucky’s prosthetic met his shoulder. Though the scars there were old, they were still very painful. Steve had barely begun to push before Bucky told him he was adding to the pain. He’d also need to be careful with his T1 through T6 thoracic vertebra.

“I’m ready,” Bucky called softly.

It broke Steve out of his thoughts and he looked up. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed with him lost in his thoughts but Bucky was lying comfortably on his front on the table with the sheet covering most of his body. His head rested on his folded arms.

With one last glance at his notes, Steve stood and went to the head of the table. Squatting down to be eyelevel with his client, Steve asked something that he didn’t normally ask but thought it a good idea now. “Have you heard of the stoplight system?”

Bucky’s brows drew down. “Like, for driving?” His tone said that the answer should be obvious, but also that he figured that’s not what Steve was really asking. He was right.

“No. I mean, yes, but not really. It’s along the same lines. It’s actually commonly used for sex but I think it would work here, too. It’s a warning system, a check in, of sorts. If you’re comfortable with what’s going on, you’d be green. Yellow is for if you aren’t so good. Maybe you need a pause, a moment to steady yourself or to take a breath. Or you’re beginning to become uncomfortable. And red would be for when you need everything to just stop, for if you need me to back off completely, to give you space. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” His voice sounded rough, though Steve didn’t know why. He let it go.

“Think we could use it here? I can check in and make sure everything’s okay. If you give me a yellow or red, I’ll respond immediately and appropriately. Or if things start to change for you, you can just give me a color without me asking. If I need clarification, I’ll stop and then ask. And same goes for you. If you need me to explain something, all you have to do is ask.”

“Okay.”

He still sounded a bit rough but now there was more of an emotional quality to his tone. It made Steve really glad he’d suggested the system for Bucky. With everything he’d been through in the past, Steve wanted him to be as comfortable as possible now. Especially since the massage he was about to do was definitely going to hurt.

“Can you give me a color to start out with? Everything okay so far?”

“Yeah. Green. I’m good Steve.”

“Okay. Was that frankincense oil alright or did you want a different kind? I’ve got my lavender oil, sweet basil and bergamot oil, peppermint oil, and helichrysum oil with me.”

“This one is fine. I don’t mind the smell.”

With that, Steve stood up and grabbed the bottle. He was about to squirt some onto his hands when a thought struck him. “Can I…” He hesitated before deciding to go for it. “Can I try something with your arm? I know it’s metal, but can I try massaging it? You said you can feel it. Maybe I can reduce some of the pain.”

“Knock yourself out,” Bucky drawled, a touch of humor in his voice. “Not like you can dent it.”

Steve huffed out a short laugh before he was drawing Bucky’s arms down to his side. Then he did what he would do for any arm, just minus the oil. He dug his thumbs in and slid along specific muscle groups and tendons, massaging as he went.

The prosthetic was amazingly accurate. It was shaped just like a real arm, just made of metal plates. There were defined muscles and tendons, the same as a flesh and blood arm.

He followed the line of the triceps and Bucky let out a long, drawn out “Fuck…”

Steve froze. “Buck?”

Before he could even ask for a color, Bucky let out a moan. “Green. So much green. Fields of it. Fuck… That feels so good.”

Relieved, Steve let out a little huff of breath and continued with what he was doing. He massaged his arm then his forearm and down to his wrist, hand, and fingers. Then he went back up again.

He had to really work at ignoring Bucky’s moans. They sounded like sin and sex. He had to concentrate hard so that he didn’t get turned on. That would be beyond inappropriate.

Finally, he reached Bucky’s shoulder. “Color?” Steve asked.

“Green.” The word was almost a blissed-out sigh.

“Okay. But just to warn you, this is probably where it’s going to start to hurt. Just remember the colors. Stop me if you need. And definitely stop me if it’s not a clean hurt. I am not into torture. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!” Bucky teased.

And fuck. Why did he have to go and say that? Now those words, that tone, were going to be floating around in Steve’s head. It was already hard enough to not think about his client that way.

Doing his best to force everything aside, he got down to business.

*****

Drunk on the incredible feeling of Steve massaging his left arm, Bucky wasn’t quite prepared for the sharp jolt of pain when he moved on to skin. He knew Steve had warned him and he’d had a few moments while Steve had put some of that oil onto his hands. But he just didn’t expect such a sharp turn. It was like flipping a switch. One second there was the floaty feeling of pleasure, the next pain overrode it. For just half a second, there was both, but then everything turned to pain.

Steve was right, though. It wasn’t like torture. There was the press of his fingers and palms, sometimes his forearms or elbows, deep into his muscles, but it wasn’t like a bolt of lightning running through his veins or fire burning him up, crawling painfully along his nerve endings. For the most part, it was tolerable.

There was one place, over one of his lower right ribs, when he’d had to change his color. Steve had pressed and Bucky had been gasping out ‘red’ before he’d even known he’d opened his mouth. Just like he’d said he would, Steve backed off entirely. He’d immediately let up, removed his hands from Bucky’s skin, and took a large step backwards. With his forehead pressed to the table, Bucky had just closed his eyes and breathed through it.

“Buck?” he heard after a couple minutes.

“Fuck. Think that bastard broke my rib when he threw me. Missed that in medical.”

It was another few minutes before he looked over at Steve. The man looked really worried, biting his lip, a crinkle between his eyebrows and a frown on his lips.

“Hey,” Bucky told him. “I’ll be okay. Just didn’t expect it. You can continue. Just maybe don’t press right there.”

Bucky’s attempt at humor fell flat as Steve didn’t look at all reassured. But he walked back over to Bucky, added more of his oil, and continued on.

*****

Steve got through Bucky’s back, right shoulder, and right arm without anymore mishaps. Then he flipped back the sheet to work on his legs and feet.

Massaging Bucky was actually hard work. The amount of pressure he used for normal clients didn’t seem to work here. What qualified as ‘deep tissue’ for others didn’t appear to work for a supersoldier. In order to manipulate the muscles how they needed to be manipulated, Steve had to press a lot harder than normal. He was using his elbows and forearms a lot more than normal.

Steve eventually rounded the table to work on Bucky’s feet. He was about to check in with him and get a color but, instead, when he looked up, he froze.

He hadn’t intended for it to happen, but when he’d folded the sheet up to work on Bucky’s legs, he hadn’t draped it right. Either he’d pulled it up too high or he hadn’t draped it loosely enough. He hadn’t been able to tell standing on the side, but standing at the foot of the table, he could see way more of Bucky than Bucky would probably like. Because apparently he was naked under the sheet.

Not coming into contact with the waistband of a pair of shorts, Steve had thought Bucky had chosen to wear his boxer briefs, that they’d just been low on his hips. Steve hadn’t touched under the sheet so he hadn’t thought much about it. But now… Now it was just about _all_ Steve could think about.

Regardless of the fact that Bucky was faced away and couldn’t see him, Steve willed himself not to blush. He also ran through everything he could think of that was the opposite of sexy.

“Everything okay?” Bucky asked.

“Yep.” A part of him was proud of how steady his voice was. The rest of him, however, was debating drawing attention to the problem by covering Bucky up fully. Finally, after waffling about it, he decided that preserving Bucky’s dignity was more important than Steve’s embarrassment. He went around the side of the table and fixed the sheet.

*****

When Steve pulled the sheet lower and draped it deeper between his legs, Bucky struggled with his mind wanting to slink right back into the gutter.

Just how much of a look did Steve get? That had to be the reason he’d adjusted things. Bucky couldn’t think of any other. It wasn’t like he was cold. And he would’ve said something if he had been uncomfortable.

He’d known he could’ve worn shorts or his underwear. But he hadn’t. After everything Steve had already seen, it hadn’t seemed like a huge deal. He’d be covered by the sheet so whatever. But now…

Now, the only thing that kept Bucky from starting to get hard at the thought of Steve seeing him was the fact that every press of Steve’s hand, fist, forearm, or elbow into his flesh brought fresh pain.

By the time Steve finished with his feet and ankles, Bucky mostly had himself under control. He had himself under control, that was, until Steve opened his mouth.

“Are you comfortable with me working on your glutes or should I skip that? You can just roll over and I’ll work on your front if you’d rather.”

The thought of Steve touching his ass immediately had Bucky in the beginnings of a _situation_. If he said no, he’d have to turn over and risk Steve seeing the start of an erection. A sheet did not do much to disguise that. On the other hand, saying yes would keep him face down but he’d have Steve actually touching him there. Which might make things so much worse.

Except…

Maybe it would be the same as when he’d realized Steve caught a glimpse of him under the sheet. Everything else had hurt when Steve had massaged the muscles and that effectively kept him from getting aroused. Maybe the pain in his ass would take care of the problem.

Worth a shot.

“Go ahead and do ‘em. Might as well.”

There was the smallest sound of Steve swallowing behind him—a sound Bucky wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t been a supersoldier. Maybe Bucky wasn’t the only one affected by all of this.

*****

Steve took a breath and braced himself. Folding the sheet and setting it aside, he turned back. His eyes were unerringly drawn to the firm, perfect globes of Bucky’s butt. That he had to touch. Professionally.

Right at the moment, Steve’s life didn’t seem all that fair.

Once again, he pushed everything to the side. He was helping a client feel better. Reducing the constant pain was the goal. With that thought in mind, everything was just a little bit easier. Not easy, but easier.

He put some more oil on his hands and began to work. Once again, he had to press much harder than he normally would have. For anyone but Bucky, he’d worry that he was hurting them.

One of the things that sort of boggled Steve’s mind—though, after everything Bucky had told him, he understood—was the way Bucky didn’t make a sound when he was in pain. There was no way this massage _didn’t_ hurt. But the only sound Bucky had made was when he’d said ‘red’ as Steve pressed hard on his hurt rib.

Now, though, as Steve really dug into the different muscles in his butt and hips, he twitched every once in a while. It must’ve been when Steve hit a particularly painful spot.

“Color?” he asked.

There was a moment’s hesitation before Bucky quietly said, “Yellow.”

Steve immediately let up the pressure. Removing his hands, he moved to the head of the table and laid his palm gently against his upper back. Squatting down, he looked into Bucky’s eyes. “Hey, talk to me. What’s going on? Did I make you uncomfortable? You hurting too bad?”

“No. Just— I mean, yeah, it hurts, but not bad. I just, um…”

“What?”

“Just need to…readjust.”

Steve understood almost immediately and winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The look on Bucky’s face when he said that, if it had been verbalized, probably would have been along the lines of a disbelieving and sarcastic ‘you’re adorable.’ Steve felt like he’d just missed something but wasn’t quite sure what.

“Why don’t I get you a glass of water while you get better situated? Then, we’ll see about continuing. If you still want, we can finish off your back then switch and do your front.”

*****

Bucky had been so wrong about the pain overriding any arousal. Apparently, when it came to Steve touching his ass, pain didn’t much matter.

He was glad for the reprieve, though. If nothing else, it allowed him to try to catch his breath.

He thought about the fact that Steve had no idea what was going on. He felt a little bad about letting him believe he’d squished Bucky’s junk, but, for now, it was better than the alternative. Or maybe not, if what Bucky was beginning to suspect was actually true. If Steve was attracted to him the way he was attracted to Steve…

Bucky heard the tap turn off and quickly readjusted himself. His dick would either calm down or it wouldn’t. If it didn’t, Steve would soon get an eyeful and they’d just have to deal.

Steve crouched down again so Bucky didn’t strain his neck and offered him the glass. He still looked contrite but Bucky didn’t say anything.

He propped himself up on his elbows but paused before reaching out. “Hey! My back and shoulders feel better.” Maybe there was something to this painful deep tissue stuff.

But the thought didn’t go much further because Steve smiled at his words. It was like the sun breaking through on a cloudy day. It just slowly lit everything up.

Fuck. There was no way his hard on was going away anytime soon.

Bucky chugged the water, gave the glass back, adjusted himself _again_ while Steve’s back was turned, and then laid back down. There wasn’t much hope of him simmering down but he was still going to try.

*****

When Steve went back to massaging Bucky’s glutes, he went slower and was a bit more careful. He didn’t want a repeat of what had just happened. Nobody deserved that.

Eventually, though, he finished up. “Okay. Let me get the sheet again and you can turn over whenever you’re ready.

Bucky sighed. It wasn’t tired so much as defeated. Turning back, Steve held up the sheet and waited. Bucky didn’t move.

“Buck?”

Bucky sighed again and thunked his head down onto the table twice before settling with his eyes closed.

“Hey.” Steve covered Bucky with the sheet and then crouched down near Bucky’s head. “How about giving me a col—”

“I need to tell you something,” Bucky interrupted.

“O…kay?” Steve wasn’t quite sure what was going on.

But Bucky didn’t say anything more, just laid there with his head down and his eyes closed.

“There’s obviously a problem. Did I…do something?”

Instead of answering, Bucky groaned and started thumping his head against the table again. It wasn’t hard but it was still worrisome.

“Hey, hey.” Steve reached out with both hands to still Bucky’s movement. “No need for all that. Tell me what’s going on and whatever it is, Buck, we’ll figure it out.”

Bucky said something but it was too muddled for his aids to catch. He felt like he was just adding insult to injury but he had to ask. “I didn’t… I’m sorry but I didn’t hear what you said. Can you repeat that?”

In one swift move, Bucky surged up and forward, meeting Steve’s mouth with his own. Then he kissed him for all he was worth.

In that moment, Steve forgot himself. He forgot where he was. He forgot what they were doing. He forgot what he _shouldn’t_ be doing. Hell, Steve forgot his own damn name. For a few long seconds that felt like an eternity, he kissed Bucky back.

But his hand sliding down and coming into contact with the oil on Bucky’s shoulder yanked him back to reality. Pulling back, feeling like he was ripping himself away for something he desperately wanted, he gulped in breaths of air. “Buck…”

“Please, Steve?”

“I—I want to. Fuck, do I want to. But you’re…I can’t, Bucky. You’re my client. I can’t. I won’t do that.”

“Then… Then I won’t see a PT. We could—”

“Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t live in pain because you think you want to have sex with me. Massages can lead to feeling—”

“It’s not that.” Bucky interrupted. He sat up, sitting cross-legged, uncaring of his nudity. He didn’t bother to reach for the sheet.

Not wanting to stare at the thing he wanted that was so far out of his reach it was laughable, Steve stood up. If they were going to have this conversation, he wasn’t going to do it eyelevel with Bucky’s dick.

“It’s not about that,” Bucky said again. “I wanted you from the moment I opened the door and saw you standing there. And it only grew as I saw more of you, as I talked with you.”

Turning, Steve ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Then he turned back. “Don’t throw away the opportunity to stop hurting. I know I can’t tell you what to do. I _know_ it’s not my place. But, Buck, this could really help you. Don’t cut out on PT. Give it a chance.”

“But what about you? I wasn’t— I don’t want just a quick fuck. I can find that anywhere. I want _you_.”

Steve took a step back, his hand pressed to his heart. “I won’t sleep with a client. Please don’t ask that of me.” A simple fix occurred to him then. “You could do therapy appointments with one of the others. You could choose—”

But Bucky drew back, a grimace on his face. “I don’t… I want you. I trust _you_. Do you know how rare that is for me? Even before I was taken and tortured for decades, I found it difficult to trust. It’s only harder now. I can’t—I don’t—”

Bucky’s eyes began to shine with unshed tears and it broke Steve’s heart. He couldn’t help himself. He stepped closer and drew Bucky into a hug. He tried to make it as comforting as possible, even as he was intensely aware of Bucky’s lack of clothing.

Steve was going to hell.

*****

Bucky quickly got himself under control and pulled away from Steve. He had such a look of concern on his face that it broke Bucky a little bit. Of all the people out there to connect to, to feel entirely comfortable around, it had to be him. Of all the people he could’ve been pretty instantly attracted to, it had to be Steve.

His eyes were drawn down when Steve bit his lip. “Will you continue PT if I stay on as your therapist?” he asked.

He thought about it, about what Steve had said. If Bucky continued physical therapy with Steve, he wouldn’t do anything with him. No kissing, no touching, and definitely no sex. Nothing unprofessional.

Bucky wanted more than that, though. He wanted quiet movie nights, dinners in, holding hands while they strolled down sidewalks or took a walk in a park. He wanted the laughter and the closeness that could be had. He wanted to try to fall asleep at night beside Steve. If he stayed just his therapist, there would be none of that.

Bucky opened his mouth to answer but Steve seemed to know what it would be. “Don’t,” he said, a pleading look in his eyes. “You could feel better. You could stop hurting so much. Don’t throw that away for a romp in the hay or a temporary good time. I’m not worth it. No one is.”

“Do you like me?” Bucky eventually asked. Before he decided, he needed to know.

Steve lowered his eyes and stared at the floor. Shoving his hands in his pockets like he was afraid he would try to reach out he quietly answered, “Yes.”

“Do you want me? For more than just a one night stand or something casual?”

Steve swallowed hard and his voice wavered as, again, he answered, “Yes.”

Bucky took a breath to try to slow his pounding heart. “And if we did this, if I went through PT with you as my therapist, would you be willing to wait for me? And then be with me after?”

Steve’s eyes snapped up to his, wide with surprise at the implication that Bucky would be willing to do all that, to wait.

“Would you want to be in a relationship with me once we’re done?”

He watched as emotion after emotion flew across Steve’s face. His pulse beat out a quick tattoo in his neck and, in his pockets, his fists balled up and released, balled up and released. “You mean that, Buck? You really want a relationship, not a hookup? Are you willing to wait? We’re not talking a just month or two. With everything…”

“I know. Seventy years of torture, remember? I know that it’s not going to be a quick fix.” After a moment, Bucky slid off the table and walked until he was standing half a foot away. “I’m willing if you are.”

Steve’s eyes dropped to look at Bucky’s body before he wrenched them back up. “I’m willing. But there can’t be anything before we’re finished. No personal calls or texts, no meeting outside of our appointments, nothing unprofessional in or out of appointments. I can’t— I love my job, Buck. I won’t risk ruining that. I help people. I _want_ to help people. That’s my hard line. Can you deal with that? Can you wait however long it’ll be?”

Bucky closed his eyes for half a minute and just breathed. “Yeah.” He looked into the intense blue staring back at him. “Yeah, I can deal with that.”

Steve gave him the smallest of smiles. “Then, if you’re still fine with it, climb back up onto the table and we’ll finish up here. I’m sure Shuri is going to bite my head off as soon as I call and tell her I’m leaving.

*****

From then on, Bucky turned down any and all offers to set him up or to go out on dates. He stopped looking at other women and men. He stopped even noticing them that way. From then on, he only had eyes for Steve.

During their appointments, he soaked up every little thing he was given: a comment here, a casual touch there, the way Steve turned his head as he thought and sometimes chewed on his lip. In return, Bucky tried to give as much as he got. He focused on becoming friends, even if they had to wait to _really_ get to know each other.

It was hard. Fuck, was it hard. But Steve was worth it. Bucky believed that more and more each time he saw him.

Aside from all of that, though, the physical therapy appointments were actually helping. Bucky’s pain levels had significantly decreased since he’d started. His baseline, as Steve called it, had lowered so much that Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good.

He’d followed Steve’s advice and started doing yoga before and after missions. The first time he’d done it, he’d done it before he geared up. Everyone had gotten annoyed at how long it had taken him to get to the quinjet, though, so Bucky started doing his stretches on the flight there.

It wasn’t long before Bruce joined him. Bruce even fixed a few of the postures Bucky had been doing slightly wrong. After three or four missions, Natasha and Clint joined in, too. And two months later, the others roped Sam, Tony, and Thor into it as well. As much as Tony complained each time, Bucky could tell that everyone _including_ Tony felt better after each mission. There was a lot less limping and aching muscles afterwards. Surprisingly, there was also a lot less sniping at one another. Ending a mission with Team Yoga, as Clint started calling it, relaxed everyone enough to let tensions from the battle go.

As hard as waiting was, Bucky was glad he and Steve were doing it. He was glad he’d agreed to continue with physical therapy.

*****

It hit Steve at the tail end of their appointment and he froze.

“Steve?”

But, a bit lost in his head at his sudden realization, he didn’t answer.

Bucky twisted from his position on the table and looked at him. He must’ve seen something on his face, though, because Bucky used his strength to twist out from under Steve’s hands and sat up. He cupped Steve’s face between his warm palms.

Steve had a split second to be grateful that Bucky had started wearing shorts for deep tissue massages after that first time, but then he was staring into Bucky’s gray eyes.

“What’s wrong? Color?” he asked when Steve still didn’t answer.”

“I—”

Bucky gave Steve’s head a little shake and he blurted, “This is our last appointment.”

Bucky’s smile lit up the room. “Yes it is.”

“I—”

“Uh-uh,” Buck interrupted. “We’re not finished yet. We’ll talk later when you’re no longer my therapist.”

So that’s what they did. Steve finished Bucky’s massage and then he packed everything up. He had his hand on the doorknob ready to leave when Bucky called his name. Turning, he had just enough time to set down his table and catch Bucky as he received a fierce hug.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered. “Thank you for everything. Thank you for not giving up on me and for convincing me to give this a chance. I never thought I could feel this good.”

Steve’s heart melted and he hugged him back.

“You’re welcome, Buck.”

“How long before you’re officially done?” he asked as he leaned back and looked Steve in the eye, never once letting go.

“I need to update your file and close out all the paperwork.”

“Give me a call when you’re done with everything.” Leaning forward once again, Bucky kissed him gently on the cheek. “Bye, Steve.”

*****

One year and five months after they first met, one year and five months of waiting, Bucky and Steve went on their first date. It included laughter, slow dancing, and talk of a life together, plans for far into the future.

And at the end, it included a first kiss that would lead to the rest of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to let me know what you thought. 
> 
> (Gifted to Dare because, with everything they do for me and for others, they deserve a gift.)


End file.
